Scars
by Raspberry Muffin
Summary: Everyone has scars, whether they are physical or psychological. Everyone has them. plz rr!


A/N, this story is set after my other story, when one of our own is

missing, but you don't need to have read that. Please read and review! I love getting feedback.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything...still.

We all have scars, whether they are physical or psychological. Everyone has them. It could be from something as small as when you rode your bike for the first time, but you fell off grazing your knee. Or something bigger like when the pain just got too much and you thought taking a knife to your wrist would make the pain go away.

Scars will always be there to remind you. When you look at them or you hear someone gasp in shock at the sight of your scars. To remind you of your failure, or when you almost gave up. Every time you roll up your sleeve or catch a glimpse in the mirror.

My scars were the reason I never wore backless or strap tops. The

reason I wore long sleeved shirts even in summer because I didn't want to be reminded of my failure.

The physical ones may be the ones that people notice, but its the

psychological ones that you will always remember. People say scars are interesting, that they tell a story but you don't want to remember the story, the story just brings back pain.

Martin, Vivian and Jack had too much of a sheltered, happy childhood to have scars. I'm sure the time on the job, and what we have seen have given them psychological scars, but none of the physical ones that Danny and I have to live with.

The previous night.

I jumped when I heard the buzzer of the door wondering who it could be.

"Hello?" I called into the intercom system.

"Hey Sam, it's Danny." he said,

"Come on up." I said buzzing him in.

A few seconds later I heard a knock on the door and I opened it with a smile on my face.

"Hey Danny."

"Hey, I brought pizza. Thought we should hang out for a bit. You know like old times."

"Sure, come make yourself at home." I replied.

Danny grinned, my apartment was like a second home to him, it was like having an annoying but loveable big brother that was always there.

We settled down at the kitchen table, enjoying the steaming hot pizza, with tons of stringy cheese.

"So Sam, feel like watching a movie?" asked Danny.

"Ok." I said. "What? Do we have to watch Die Hard again?"

As Danny started explaining to me why Die Hard was such a classic

movie, I absently rolled my sleeves up feeling the heat in the small

kitchen. Danny's eyes widened catching a glimpse of the few thin, white scars on the inside of my arm.

I looked puzzled for a minute, wondering what had made Danny stop rambling about the genius of Bruce Willis. Then I realised, Danny had never seen them before.

"It was a long time ago." I said gently, placing my hand on his arm and pulling down my sleeve.

"Why?" he asked still shocked.

"I was 16. I just couldn't handle everything that was going on, so I

thought this would help with the pain."

Danny nodded, his face telling me that there was more he wanted to say.

I looked at him questioningly.

He lifted up the edge of his shirt revealing his stomach.

"Danny..." I started to protest, then it was my turn to catch a glimpse of the scar on his side.

"God. What happened?" I asked.

"I was young, stupid. It was in Florida. I got into a bit of a mess

with one of the local gangs there."

"Must have hurt." I said.

Danny nodded, "I guess yours must have too. I know for a fact that you have more scars. Sometimes talking helps with the pain you know." he said wisely.

"When'd you get so smart?" I asked teasingly.

"Well a little fairy cast a spell on me." he joked.

I sighed "You really want to know?"

Danny nodded seriously.

"Well I've got the one from getting shot on my leg. Uhhh the one on my shoulder where Riley...the ones on my wrist and the scars on my face."

"You can hardly see the ones on your face though." said Danny.

"It's called make-up." I replied.

"Ahhh." said Danny. "And?"

I turned round in the chair, pulling down the neck of my shirt,

revealing another scar, this one about 3 or 4 inches long across my

left shoulder.

Danny winced. "Oww." he said.

"Yeah." I turned back round to face him. "That was one night when my father was really wasted. He tried to hit me with a broken beer bottle, I think he was trying to aim for my head. But he was so drunk he missed and ended up slicing my shoulder. My other scars are nothing major, I think they're all from him though."

"Jesus Sam..." said Danny, but couldn't find the words to continue.

I smiled sadly. "You learn to forget." I said.

Danny nodded. "I only have one other scar, nothing very interesting. I just broke my ankle one time when I came off my bike, straight over the handlebars. God Sam, how did you find the strength to stay?"

"Well when I saw my mom at the bus station, I realised that I couldn't just leave her, even if we weren't very close. And it was just the fact that someone had bothered to come look for me." I sighed and looked at Danny, who had a look of uncharacteristic sorrow and seriousness on his face.

"Most of the scars aren't physical though are they?" I asked

Danny.

He shook his head sadly. "They are all up there." he said tapping his head.

"How did you deal with yours?" I asked.

"Alcohol." he admitted ashamed. "My brother never approved of me

wanting to work in the police and FBI. We just stopped talking, you

know when you are younger all you want is your families support and approval. He never gave that to me. But what I keep telling myself is that you can't keep dwelling on the past, there are more important things. That's what keeps me going."

I raise my glass of soda in a toast. "Here's to the future. And to

forgetting."

Danny also raised his glass. Both of us lost in thought, over our own

personal scars.

What I learnt from that was that although the scars will always be part of us, that it's what we do that counts. Everyone has scars, Danny helped me realise that. So I am not alone. There is always at least one person I can talk to. The physical marks of scars don't fade, but given time the memories fade and you learn to move on. To forget. One day I will be able to see the scars and not feel like a failure because I almost gave up, but feel proud that I didn't let myself, and that I became stronger for not letting myself give up.


End file.
